


The Berserking Dead

by the_song_you_gave_me



Series: Brick in the Wall [11]
Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, BRIGGS Patricia - Works, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: F/M, Gen, Werewolves, and witches, and zombies, oh my!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 21:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15397455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_song_you_gave_me/pseuds/the_song_you_gave_me
Summary: Aspen Creek’s in turmoil as Jesse shows up at the Marrok’s house looking for her dad in the aftermath of the witches’ attack.





	The Berserking Dead

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this is getting addicting… it writes like candy.
> 
> Also... this one's still a work in progress... i just couldn't find the silly flag.

Jesse stands in the doorway, her bright-turquoise hair a testament to the strangeness of everyone else around her. She’s surrounded by two Columbia Basin werewolves- Warren and Ben- the lawyer Kyle, Joel the tibecena, and the fae-turned fire-bug Aiden. Mercy’s wolf stays in front of her, still growling at Bran.

Anna soon joins Charles at the top of the basement stairs. The Omega’s wide eyes take in the full situation at a glance. Mercy’s growls come to a halt.

Jesse glares at the Marrok, “Where’s my dad?” she repeats.

Bran glares right back. Jesse doesn’t hold out long and has to drop her eyes. She lifts them to his again, her hurt showing even more. The wolves around her tense.

The Marrok sighs, “Samuel took him to the clinic.”

Mercy’s wolf snarls with force. Bran silences her with a look. “If you want to say more, change back and tell her yourself,” he tells the coyote-colored wolf.

Mercy paces in a circle before crouching down to change. Warren steps between Mercy and Jesse, protecting the human from the new wolf’s change. “We already told her what we know happened from the pack bonds on our drive here,” he explains. The old cowboy faces off against the Marrok. He takes much longer than Jesse did to back down. Behind him, Kyle and Joel fill the doorway. Warren finally drops his eyes but adds, “You owe our Jesse the whole story.”

“I don’t owe anyone anything.” The Marrok clarifies. His usual soft, polite demeanor is gone today. Stone cold authority from across the darkness of the centuries stands in its place. Mercy snaps her teeth at Bran between her pained whimpers from the Change. Bran’s gaze glances over her, but he says no more.

“Warren, you need to take your wolves and the humans to your Alpha back at the motel,” Charles steps forward from his post at the banister.

His attempt at diplomacy is backed by his wife Anna who follows up eagerly, “Please. Right now, it’s best to rest and regroup. This day’s been trying enough for everyone, we don’t need to face these issues with tempers running high.”

Warren’s hands clench into fists. “Darryl is not my Alpha!” he yells, taking a step closer into the room. Ben follows at his heels, taking Warren’s place between Mercy and Jesse.

“My Alpha is dead,” Warren spits.

Bran stays where he is, watching as the old cowboy faces off against his younger son.

Warren’s voice drops to a whisper, “So don’t tell me what to do. Charles, sit.”

Utterly off guard, Charles widens his eyes, turns his back, and sits down on the couch next to where Anna stands.

You could cut the silence with a knife. From the basement stairs behind the couch, Asil barks a laugh and hustles up to the main level. He plops down next to Charles, patting the Marrok’s second on the knee, “How does it feel now, pup? Properly bested- ha!” Something about the air clears slightly, even as the tension grows more ominously treacherous. The Spanish wolf bows his head to Warren, “I never thought I’d see the day. Thank you,” Asil gleams, “Will you and your strange wolves be joining our pack soon?”

Charles pulls Asil’s dark eyes to him to meet his amber glare.

Asil sets a pile of folded clothes down next to Charles affectionately as he backs down immediately, “These are for Mercy. I’ll be leaving now.” Asil retreats downstairs.

Charles slowly turns his gaze and meets his father’s eyes from his seat on the couch. “Do you want me to kill him?” Charles asks honestly, referring to Asil already gone. His father stares back silently, then turns to Mercy’s transformation, almost complete. Anna puts a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

Warren pants heavily from the effort of that one command, frozen to the spot where he stands in the middle of the room. The smell of his fear rises from the threat posed by the Marrok standing right at his shoulder. Warren dares not make a move.

The Marrok’s older son walks in from the front porch at that moment, passing the rest of the Columbia Basin pack to appear behind Warren. Dressed in medical scrubs, Samuel puts a hand on the dominant wolf’s shoulder.

 “Tormenting my younger brother is my territory. Not yours.” Samuel warns, “If you want to keep everyone in this house alive, I suggest we move the humans and your wolves out.”

He meets Warren’s eyes without flinching, instead rolling the cowboy’s glare off with a shrug, “Mercy excepted of course; she’s family. We're not going to kill her.”

Kyle’s eyes widen at the familiar doctor then glance back to his partner. Warren blinks back at Samuel as the Marrok still calmly watches the rest of Mercy’s Change. 

Warren hesitantly nods to Samuel. “Alright. Alright,” he says, “Jesse, let’s move back out to the porch. Give them some space.”

The cowboy waits as Ben leads the two humans outside, Jesse frantically looking to Mercy lying curled up in a ball, naked on the floor. “What about Mercy?” she asks, resisting Ben’s arm.

“New wolves aren’t safe, you know that sweetheart. Come on.” Warren closes the door behind them.

Jesse storms to the porch rail, grabbing it with both hands shaking in anger. Samuel crosses his arms, watching the Tri-Cities crowd with cold patience. They six of them stand like sentinels, waiting for battle.

Mercy crashes through the door moments later, fully dressed with Anna right behind her holding a hand on her shoulder. Mercy tumbles into Jesse.

“Careful, don’t use any strength.” Anna warns. Mercy hugs Jesse anyway. Jesse lets out a long-held sob, squeezing Mercy tight. Bran appears like a shadow behind them and stays in the background beside his son.

Warren looks to Bran once more, “I want you to know, Adam gave me a pack. I’m not returning quietly with Darryl after this.” He broods over that, his lip carrying the weight of his emotions. Warren opens his mouth again to continue, “Mercy’s the one who set me up to meet him in the first place. With him gone, that puts my loyalty to her. So don’t expect me to go off and follow whatever Alpha you wanna put me with. It won’t matter where I am.”

“Same here.” Joel echoes, “She gave me my second chance at life. I’m not sure I have a pack without Adam in charge anyway.”

Aiden gags behind them all, “I guess. I may be old and not a wolf, but these people are my people now. I’m staying with them, too.” His nod encompasses the other two plus Jesse still clinging to Mercy’s arms.

Ben stutters behind Jesse, “No offense, Warren- I don’t need to follow you into treason just to chase a dead Alpha’s memory. I’m fine staying in the pack with Darryl.” They all turn to look at Ben as his eyes fall to the wood plank floor. He vaults over the railing and walks down the road, not looking back. The summer day feels colder.

Bran uncrosses his arms and pushes off from the wall to go lean on the porch rail across the steps from Jesse.

“Child,” he says, “Your father is dead. Everything you knew of him was gone before I ended that wolf’s life.” Jesse gives a panicked little gasp as she listens to Bran’s words.

Warren and Kyle both watch the Marrok as if they’d like nothing more than to punch him in the mouth and drag him out back. Only the weight and sheer presence held in Bran’s shoulders keeps them at bay as he faces away from them.

The Marrok turns his head toward Jesse, “Can you live without seeing him?” he asks.

Jesse breathes in through the snot and all the other drippings that come with honest-to-God sobs. She wipes her tears and more makeup away from her eyes with a wet shirtsleeve as she meets Bran’s eyes. The burning strength she musters there does her credit as her father’s daughter. “I want to see him,” she says.

The Marrok nods.

Samuel raises a quiet brow. “I can take you the clinic,” he offers.

“Thank you.” Warren says quietly.

Jesse gives another sniff. “My dad is there?”

Samuel rubs the back of his neck with a hand, “It won’t be pretty. Under normal circumstances, I’d rather you not go there to see him.”

“His dog tags.” Mercy remembers, “We never retrieved his dog tags. Jesse-they should be yours.”

“Mercy,” Anna holds on to the new wolf by the fabric of her shirt. “For all we know, his tags could be out there on the forest floor.”

“Why?” Jesse asks, “They should be around his neck. I thought you brought him back here.”

Bran answers the resulting silence, “I can get them later if needed.”

He sets a hand on Mercy’s back, “Anna, could you stay here, please? The rest of our pack is still downstairs. They’ll need your help.”

The Omega looks to him with worry in her eyes, “Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you?”

Bran takes a moment to answer. “Yes,” he finally says, the ghost of a smile touching his hazel eyes, “I don’t want Charles killing anyone while we’re gone.”

 

Samuel leads them to the clinic. Bran’s already shut down his emotions, following Mercy with his head pointed straight through to the trees, both hands in his pockets. Warren follows, keeping Joel and himself between the three wolves in front and their humans behind. Kyle escorts Jesse, never taking his arms from her shoulder.

Jesse steels herself as best she can. She tries to piece the rest of the story together from Mercy on the walk there, asking questions to try and fill in the gist what happened beyond what Warren could already tell her. Kyle shakes his head through most of it. He’s in so deep to the werewolf politics now, he doesn’t want to even think about where the law of the land applies to any of this. Aiden gloomily tromps along behind.

The clinic rises into view from behind a shallow hill no would have noticed unless they knew it was there. Samuel turns the door handle and flips on the light. Clean, sterile smells of bleach and formaldehyde try to cover the fresh stench of blood and seriously corrupt magic.

As the crowd wanders in to the gruesome scene, truth comes to their eyes, confirming the horrors told on the way there. On the steel table inside, Adam’s corpse lies sprawled on its side. The underbelly of the silver-blue wolf is matted with thick blood and crusted dirt. The head lies beside it, upright on the table, separate. The dog tags weren’t there.

Adam’s eyes are open and glassy, crusted over with death. The eyelids flutter. Then the eyes widen, and the jaws creak open, spreading wider.

The head launches itself off the table, aiming straight for Kyle and Jesse. Warren steps in the way, catching the head as the jaws clamp down tight before they open again to try and take another bite.

“Zombie?!” Kyle shouts, holding an arm out in front of Jesse.

“You didn’t mention… any- residual- magic- … damn hazards of witchcraft!” Warren growls out to the Aspen Creek wolves as he bangs the heavy head against various sturdy objects. Joel pulls both Jesse and Kyle back to the door. Samuel takes Warren’s side and helps in the struggle against Adam’s ever-snapping jaws.

“Must’ve slipped our minds, being so obvious!” Samuel pulls the chomping head off Warren’s arm and torso. Meanwhile the legs of the dead wolf start to run in place, scrambling to get purchase with its claws.

Mercy unfreezes and begins to help Samuel control Adam’s reanimated head, now doing its best to drag Samuel around the room. At her touch, the wolf head shudders and lets go. Samuel pushes Mercy out of range as quickly as possible. Though, it’s hard to tell the range of a head capable of suspending itself in mid-air. Samuel backs away from the head, circling it surreptitiously as he puts himself as the third wolf between the bewitched floating head and the humans.

The decapitated body distracts them all, falling to the floor with a thud. Off balance, it struggles to stand. The head turns, catching its new target, it dives for Mercy on the other end of the room.

Bran catches the head with one hand. He takes his other hand out of his pocket to get a better grip, and the head bursts into flame. The clamping jaws begin to slow as its flesh decomposes. Everyone edges further away.

Aiden catches on and lights the rest of the body aflame. What’s left of silver-blue wolf stumbles to its feet and begins crashing around the room.

“There aren’t any fire sprinklers about to turn on, are there?” Bran asks his son, his voice eerily calm.

“No,” Samuel responds, a little shocked at the flaming wolf head in his father’s hands. “We deactivated those long ago as a safety precaution,” Samuel delivers with a straight face, “for just this sort of magical …thing.” His attempt at a joke falls a little flat as he continues to stare at the flaming, snapping wolf jaws on Adam’s severed head. The rest of the room is soaked in the stench of fear and dread, both from the reanimated dead Alpha, and from the sudden flames in the Marrok’s hands. Bran drops Adam’s head and it continues to burn into ash on the floor, finally coming to a standstill. The Marrok casually opens his left hand to show a dilapidated lighter in his palm, the gas cartridge punctured by his nails. It had been in his pocket.

Samuel doesn’t say a word.

Jesse’s crying uncontrollably. She’s not okay with reanimated dead fathers being a real thing. Kyle holds her tight, as Joel stands between them and the stumbling, flaming wolf carcass. Mercy’s eyeing Bran carefully as Warren pulls Kyle and Jesse further away from the Marrok.

“Did you move Leah out of the salt locker?” Bran asks his son the doctor.

“She’s in there.” Samuel nods to the cooler, “I did her autopsy first.”

It’s a large freezer, the kind that stores bodies in a morgue. Samuel moves closer to the steel door and listens. There’s a banging and more movement inside.

“Kyle, take Jesse out of here. Now. Joel too.” Samuel commands.

Kyle doesn’t need telling twice, but he looks to Warren first, who keeps his eyes on the Marrok by the cooler door. Bran doesn’t look at anyone.

Mercy moves to Bran’s back. She places her hands on his shoulders, which he holds forcibly tensed to a relaxed position. She waits for Kyle and Jesse escape out of the clinic. “I can handle Leah if you want me to,” she tells his ear

“Go stand behind Warren,” Bran returns, “and my son.” He takes off his shirt and begins the change to his wolf shape.

Samuel stands between Mercy and his father as the Marrok completes the Change. He keeps her from reaching out to his da, as Warren opens the cooler door and closes it quickly behind the small gray wolf slipping through.

There’s a thrashing around the cooler walls for a long time. The three wolves and the lone ancient fae wait heavily through the ripping sounds of flesh coming from the other side.

“Do you know what he is?” Aiden asks Samuel gravely, “To work fire like that….” The kid-who-isn’t a kid looks up at the doctor. “He’d need a lot of magic in his blood.”

“Shut up, if you know what’s good for you.” Samuel answers at a growl.

 When the noise stops, Warren reopens the door to find tiny pieces of once-reanimated golden wolf strewn about the inside. Aiden quickly lights the more solid remains so they burn to a crisp. Bran’s wolf stands in the midst of the flames, uncaring. He’s covered in blood and looks like death with his thousand-yard stare.

Samuel stands before the cooler door, blocking the Marrok’s way out of the room. He slowly crouches down to the floor, his muscular arm held out across the door. Mercy kneels on the floor behind him where Bran left her. Warren follows suit, motioning to Aiden to do the same. As soon as their knees hit the floor, the gray wolf launches at Samuel, tackling the big Welshman to the ground. The doctor’s head hits the hard floor with a crack. Samuel grunts. Holding the haunches of the wolf back to keep the sharp teeth from his face, he yells through his father’s roars, “Get out of here, Warren! He’ll kill you if you get in the way! Take the fae too!”

“Don’t you need help?” Warren yells back, pulling Aiden to the wall behind him as the flames continue to burn inside the insulated cooler.

Samuel blears at Warren with unfocused eyes, “He’s not going to kill me! You get out!” Samuel scrambles to get between his da and Warren as the wolf redirects his attention to the new voice. The gray wolf roars even louder at his son as they roll across the floor in a tumble of fury. Warren exhales out his nose and throws the fae toward the clinic door. Aiden takes off running for the outdoors at his first chance.

Warren looks back, “What about Mercy?” he asks.

The Marrok roars. Samuel grabs his father by the shoulders, tossing him backwards over his head toward the cooler using pure, inhuman strength. “Get out!” Samuel orders, his voice full of rage. Dominance games aside, Warren backs out of the clinic at a fast pace.

As soon as that outer door clicks into place, Samuel falls on his back, exposing his neck. He lies still.

The half-crazed, unseeing wolf stands over him, teeth bared and dripping. Both pant heavily at the close distance. The Marrok gives a prolonged roar to his son’s face. Samuel does not meet his eyes. He holds his breath.

Fangs close over his neck. He coughs as piercing teeth tear through his flesh, cutting his airway. A sinking cold fills his stomach. Then the jaws retreat.

Samuel rolls over on the tile, still coughing. Blood drips from his neck onto the floor. He sees the gray wolf stalk past him to nuzzle at Mercy. Mercedes blinks in shock. Her eyes look wide with hunger from all the blood. Her hands slowly trace up the gray wolf’s stained fur. Samuel closes his eyes in pain.

 

When he opens them again, Samuel has no sense of the time that passed. For all he knows it could have been seconds… or motionless minutes. Mercy’s eyes shine bright. She smells like coyote, more than she does of wolf.

Samuel moves onto his back and takes in a hesitant breath. He feels no shame taking strength from his father’s packs spread out across the continent. Fighting the Berserker without using his own wolf had been a risky bet. Then again, his wolf would have been killed outright just for standing in his Berserker Alpha’s way. At least the damage seems to be healing as well as can be expected. Samuel carefully bends one knee up, testing his leg’s ability to hold weight.

He freezes, sensing something off through the pack bonds. Samuel risks a glance and meets those cold, pale yellow eyes. The wolf feigning sleep in Mercy’s lap still lacks the mental shackles of control usually held in place by his father’s reason. Samuel rolls his eyes to the ceiling. At least the clinic hadn’t burned down around them, yet.

Mercy’s fingers trace circles through his father’s fur. The Berserker blinks at her touch, then closes his eyes again.

Samuel curses in Welsh. Slowly. Just to make sure Mercy picks up every word. He can almost hear the beast give a quiet snort of laughter.

Mercy starts, “Samuel!” she cries out, her voice slightly hoarse. She deprives the beast his pillow by scrambling over to his son. The gray wolf stands immediately and shakes his coat out from head to white-tipped tail. The Berserker shoots an accusatory glance to the doctor on the floor. Samuel drops his eyes but keeps watch on the wolf’s every move.

Mercy glances back over her shoulder, “Oh come on, Samuel he’s not going to hurt you anymore.”

It’s extremely possible to give someone a derisive look without ever meeting her gaze. He pointedly keeps his eyes off Mercy. The beast gives another laughing snort. Good to know his relationship with the beast was as good as it always had been. Samuel waits for the wolf to move closer to his side. After a few precursory sniffs, his da’s wolf flicks his knee with that white-tipped tail as permission to get up. The wolf then trots off, leading the way to the clinic door. Mercedes follows behind him like a puppy, her hand reaching for his fur for all the world like he’s a gentle guide dog.

Samuel lets out a breath as he rises from his back to a sitting position. “Well you’re in trouble now, Mercy.”

“What?” She retorts. The wolf gives half a growl at her side, still laughing with his cold eyes.

 

“Do you know that’s the Berserker walking at your side?” Samuel asks her on the way back to the Marrok’s house.

“Do you have to speak in Welsh?” Mercy asks back, fully in English.

“Right now? Yes. With him, it’s only polite.” He answers slow enough not to lose her. The wolf before them continues to whack Samuel with his tail as he paces in the lead. Mercy looks between the two. Samuel holds his hand to his neck, still trying to stop the earlier bleeding.

“I thought Charles said Bran and his wolf are one and the same.” Mercy counters.

“Seamless, yes. But not one and the same. You’re dealing solely with the other side of the spectrum now.” Samuel switches to English for a moment. The wolf glares over his shoulder at Samuel. “Her Welsh isn’t that good, Da.” Samuel explains.

“Not the same, but he’s still your Da?” Mercy raises a brow.

“You can ask Charles what he thinks sometime. My short answer is yes, since it keeps me alive.”

Bran’s wolf sneezes in response. Mercy trots to keep up with him. Samuel follows them up to the porch, frustration in every step. He lets the door bang shut as he goes in. Damn wolf. The wound on his neck wasn’t closing up.

The sound of the guest shower turns on, so he can only assume Mercy’s washing the blood off his father’s coat. His brother and Anna’s scent come from the kitchen. Samuel heads there first.

“Just so you know,” he tells his brother in an undertone as he walks into the room, “You’re free to kill him without having to kill me afterward. I won’t interfere in that anymore. I’m quite happy to return home to my wife, thank you.”

Charles looks up from the laptop on the table, his eyes immediately wolf-yellow. “What the hell happened?” Charles asks in English.

“Damn fucking witchcraft,” Samuel answers, still in Welsh. He reaches for the heavy duty first aid kit he stocked on the top shelf of his father’s pantry.

Anna’s nose flares from the combination of scents, “Samuel, you’re bleeding! Let me help you,”

“Anna, it might help more if you go see my father before Charles does.” Samuel responds, quite happy to doctor his wounds on his own. Anna widens her eyes and dashes around the corner toward Mercy.

“What. The. Hell. Happened? Tell me, Samuel.” His brother growls, already standing from his seat. The wood under his hand breaks from his grip on the back of the chair he holds onto. “Are the others safe?”

Samuel can see his brother’s mental struggle not to go racing after his mate right away. “They all got out fine. Maybe a little singed from the fire, is all.” He rummages through the supplies, not bothering to cover his exasperation. “The corpses came back to life. Well, non-life.”

“Leah’s too?”

Samuel doesn’t answer.

“Fuck.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You’re not telling me you got torn up by a damn zombie, are you?” Charles narrows his gaze as Samuel tapes gauze to his neck.

Sam snarls at his little brother, eyes ice-white. He growls out, “Use your damn nose.”

Charles answers, now also speaking in Welsh, “I already have, Sawyl. I know who caused those wounds.” Charles grows dangerously quiet, “Did you really just send my mate to our father when he doesn’t have control of his wolf?”

“Once he manages not to kill me, he’s really not that bad.” Samuel looks away from his Alpha’s second, returning the kit to its proper place. He almost successfully keeps the lie out of his voice.

Charles grabs Samuel by his still-tender collar in an attempt to throw his brother out of the way. Sam grabs the younger wolf and spins him right back around, pinning Charles to the wall.

Charles roars at him, “I could kill you myself, Sawyl. How dare you endanger her!”

“Too bad I owe Mercy a return favor or six, dumb-butt.” Sam smiles at how good the childish insult sounds in Welsh. He may also be a wee bit upset for not getting to fight at full strength earlier. Charles struggles against him, but Sam has his mind already on the game. His brother forgets just how much stronger Sam is compared to his human. Age and cunning, they say, it always triumphs over youth and skill. No doubt Charles’ wolf would be at a disadvantage in a rage.

“Boys, stop breaking my kitchen.”

Sam halts what he’s doing. Charles drops his fist in surprise. Bran stands barefoot on the granite floor, wrapped in a towel, still coated in a sheen of sweat from the quick Change. Mercy and Anna both hover behind him.

Bran walks forward as Samuel lets go of his younger brother. The Marrok pushes his second against the wall, hard enough for Charles’ head to form a dent in the wall. Father and son meet each other with blazing gold eyes.

“Sawyl Lwellyn is mine. Not yours to kill. Understood?” The Marrok speaks softly in Welsh for only Charles and Samuel to hear. If not for the addition of that middle name, they would have been sure the wolf was still in control. Their father lets Charles go, and Charles’ feet sink back to the floor.

Anna’s at his side immediately, her eyes wide in fear. “Bran, what are you doing?” She demands.

Bran ignores her to look Samuel over.

“You’re not actively trying to die, are you?” he asks his firstborn.

“Not lately, no.” Samuel answers, then with a smirk he returns, “Are you? It’s alright if you’re feeling a little suicidal, Da.”

He clamps a hand down on his father’s bare shoulder, assuring him. “We all love you and will support you through whatever your trials be. Don’t you worry now.” It would be touching and serious if not for that innocently impish grin on his face.

“Samuel!” Anna exclaims, mortified as Bran’s face falls into an open-mouthed grimace. The Marrok closes his mouth and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Mercy bites her knuckle, leaning her elbow on Anna’s shoulder with a dark-humored smile, “That’s right,” she comments, “You’re not as used to seeing Samuel like this. I’m pretty sure some part of Bran’s trying hard not to laugh right now.”

“Mercedes,” Bran looks to her, but not before Charles removes Mercy’s elbow from Anna’s shoulder.

“There’s no need to tease her, Mercy.” Charles defends.

 Samuel watches his father’s eyes and laughs. “You’re baiting the Marrok by touching Mercy, Charles. Did you realize that?”

Bran closes his eyes and they’re back to hazel by the time he opens them again. Exhausted doesn’t begin to cover his expression. “Samuel.” He breathes, “Will you still be here in the morning?”

“If I’m needed, yes.” Samuel answers seriously.

“Charles thinks he found the tool that cursed our wolves. I’m going after it. You can follow your brother along with me or not as you wish.”

“I’ll be there.” Samuel answers more for Charles than for his father. The question was not whether they’d be able to take care of the witches’ device, but more to see who would be there to pick up the pieces should everything go wrong.

“I’m coming with you.” Anna adds, and Bran nods.

“That’s good,” he says, “We could use you with us. We’ll leave at first light.”

“What about Jesse,” Mercy cuts in, “And the rest of my pack- Are you just going to leave them here?”

“They aren’t prisoners here, they can go where they wish.” Bran looks to her, unhesitant.

“And if Warren wants to come with us?” Mercy meets his eyes.

Bran breathes out through his nose. “I think keeping this mission to family alone will be complicated enough.”

“Jesse is family.”

“Jesse’s human.” Bran spells out.

“Da means keeping this to wolves he knows he won’t kill, Mercy.” Samuel explains, sounding just as tired as his father for once.

Anna turns to Charles briefly, “I’m on that list?” she checks, sounding surprised.

“Apparently so,” Charles answers, “but it’s still good to be cautious.” He looks to the gauze taped around Samuel’s neck.

“Adam wasn’t on that list.” Mercy says, glaring at Bran again. And Bran, angry and tired as he is, softens his expression into tenderness.

He touches a thumb and forefinger to Mercy’s chin. “No,” Bran confirms, “He wasn’t. Not when the choice was between his life or you.”

Mercy holds his eyes, and Bran leaves it at that. He backs a step away as Mercy looks down, just a bit. Bran walks off to another room.

             

Anna loans Mercy a pair of pajama shorts for the night. “Sleep wherever you’re comfortable” she tells her. Mercy opens the door to the blue and gray guest bedroom first, and finds Bran again, sprawled out over half the bedcovers in a fresh tee and pair of sweats, asleep. She hesitates at the door then steps onto the carpet, closing out the light of the hallway behind her. She edges her way onto the bed.

Bran moves a little but doesn’t open his eyes. Mercy takes that as a sign to nudge her hand closer to the spare pillow where his hand rests. She lies down, curling up before her Marrok, deep in thought. He doesn’t smell of magic, or blood, or anything unpleasant at all.

She isn’t sure how much she can trust him. But she knows he’ll do all he can to protect his own. Her hand reaches closer to his, wanting to hold on for dear life. He starts in his sleep, drawing his hand back away from hers. She moves in, just a little closer, and lays her head on the spare pillow. Mercy contents herself just to watch him breathe.

 

 

His own rooms smelled of Leah. He wouldn’t be able to sleep like that, not with the wolf already on edge. How many years- was it only two centuries since he’d felt the pain of grief? Her death tastes raw in his throat, like blood and bitter ash from a fire- or was that just residual memories from the course of today?

Too much at once, and not enough at all. The beast hungers in his loss. He longs for the hunt, for revenge, and more blood. Moreover, he longs for his mate’s touch.

Mercy’s scent touches his nose, and the man breathes deep. Jasmine, desert sand, and a new mix of mint and the musk of the hunt along with her ever-present dash of motor oil. No, he reminds himself, It’s too dangerous. He promised himself never again- he couldn’t afford to love anyone so much. Even wolves die- he knew it better than anyone else, and he couldn’t afford to make her someone he couldn’t lose.

But Leah was gone.

Adam too, though he shouldn’t think like that.

He breathes in her scent again and pulls back, retreating unto himself. One more night, let it rest.

His wolf, meanwhile, awakens to plan and plot.

 

 

Mercy opens her eyes to the sound of locusts. Outside, the summer wind blows through the trees of the Marrok’s forest. Somehow his sweet and salty scent reaches even to his guest rooms, oh wait- no. That’s more because he’s still on the bed beside her. Mercy blinks in the dead of night.

His eyes open suddenly- glowing pale gold in the starlight and he blinks back. Bran smells of wolf. Mercy opens her eyes wide.

“Berserker?” she mouths.

The wolf rolls his eyes, still in the shape of a man.

Mercy blinks again. She knows that humor from somewhere. A memory of Samuel comes to her, but she pushes it back. There would be no place for that with this wolf in front of her.

The Berserker rises just enough to prop himself up on his arms. He stretches one hand to brush the hair away from Mercy’s cheek, right where her scar had been- before she turned wolf. Bran smiles.

She sees it now- seamlessly still Bran. It’s something in the glint of his eye, that beckons her trust, that same trait always there throughout her childhood. The hard edge; the sharp, witty humor winking with amusement; that laughter in the face of reckless chaos… she recognizes this wolf. She may not know him as easily as she does Sam, but those yellow eyes- she’s seen him before, often hiding just below the surface of a calm, deceptively peaceful man.

Mercy blinks again, suddenly unsure. Just how much of this wolf was the Marrok she knew? Which parts belong to the man alone? Does it matter? Was any of that puzzle worth figuring out? Bran’s hand traces over her cheek bone again, brushing a fingertip down her jawline. She directs her eyes to the wolf’s- surprised she can meet his gaze.

Maybe it’s just the Berserker drawing her in. She panics, just a little. Too close, she thinks. Not again. Not again.

The wolf exhales out his nose. He falls back on the pillow, releasing his hold on her, letting her chin fall free of his fingertips.

Mercy rises from the bed to a sitting position. Her breathing comes faster before it slows. The wolf lies still through it all, facing away from her. “I’m sorry,” she breathes, when her body finally comes under her control again, “My Welsh is really bad,” she whispers, wanting to explain.

Bran’s voice comes to her head, though she understands it’s solely the thoughts of the wolf. He says, _If you need words to communicate, I assure you I understand English just fine_. That superior sense of judgment isn’t lost on her.

Mercy makes a face, “So do you speak, too?”

The wolf looks at her from over his shoulder. “Woof,” he pouts.

That was undoubtedly a pout. . The accent was Welsh, but definitely human. Not Animal. And not his usual backwoods Montana American either. Mercy’s mouth drops open.

The wolf turns his head back again. Mercy leans over to catch the wolf’s expression. Another familiar wry smirk creeps up Bran’s face. She knows this time she’s uncannily more used to seeing that one on Samuel. The similarities between them were going to drive her insane.

“I think I liked you better when you pretended to be sophisticated,” Mercy retorts.

Bran’s eyes roll again before meeting her gaze again. A “speaking silence” doesn’t fully cover the intensity with which the wolf communicates. Mercy couldn’t begin to describe what she understands from that look. Everything about it reassures her though. Nothing scares her or gives her too much pause. There’s no room left for doubt. She doesn’t like it.

“Use words, please.”

The wolf furrows his brow, sitting up beside her. He tilts his head calmly, then says in a steady beat, “He’s. slow.” The Berserker takes her chin in his hand again, gently, continuing: “But. We. Don’t. have. to. be.” He tilts her jaw up to draw closer for a kiss. A small, sly smile spreads across his lips. Mercy takes in a breath, opening her mouth, just a bit.

Soft lips touch hers and she edges closer to meet them. They press briefly, a slight taste of promises to come. The wolf blinks at her again when she opens her eyes, that stupid superior smile on his face. She knows that one was all Bran’s. Even Samuel’s version couldn’t hold a candle to that. Maybe it was just the wolf. Really, what was she getting herself into?

She exhales out her nose into his face, backing away off the bed. The stupid, fluttery part of her was falling head over ankles already. Meanwhile, the weary voice of her independence and reason wanted out right now.

She turns back to the Marrok’s wolf, anger in her eyes now as she meets the furrowed brow over his gaze. Spots of warm hazel flicker through the pale gold. The Marrok’s eyes narrow further, no longer focusing on anything, until they widen suddenly. Bran closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He breathes slowly, purposefully. The smell of wolf lessens, just a little.

Mercy edges closer to the bed once more. “Bran?” She asks, all caution in her step.

The Marrok sighs, keeping his eyes closed. He tosses his legs over the far side of the bed, sitting on the edge with one foot propped up on his knee. “Mercedes,” he responds, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” There’s not even a lie to her words as she stands straight.

“That’s… good to hear,” he acknowledges. _This_ was her Marrok.

She sits back down on the opposite edge of the bed, his back still to her. “What was all that?” she ventures to ask. “Do you remember it… what the wolf… said?”

“Yes.” Bran answers simply. She can’t help but smile at the shortness to his voice. Her knees draw up to her chest as she breathes in his scent. The Marrok eyes her warily.

“It’s a very bad idea,” Bran offers as an explanation.

“Alright.”

She waits for more but doesn’t expect anything. Bran’s closed off his expressions again, that wide-reaching thousand-yard stare back to his eyes. It worries her, just a bit. She couldn’t quite match that look to the wolf she just met, it reminds her more of whatever part of him attacked Samuel earlier.

Bran sighs again, his expression no lighter. “Still,” he voices, only then turning to face her once more. Bran’s eyes grow softer, sheepish, his gaze pointed down to the bedspread between them. Mercy sucks in a breath, she’s seen him like this with her once before. This time however, it feels different. She wonders… about that wolf’s kiss. And the ones before. What did that all mean to the man before her now? Bran raises his hazel eyes to meet hers.

“Leah’s gone.”

Oh, this wasn’t what she expected.

She sees through the shut-off darkness to the hurt hiding behind his eyes. Bran mulls over his words, letting the sounds of the night air fill the space between them.

“And I know Adam…” Bran cuts off, sensing the rising scent of anger coming off Mercy’s skin.

“That happened today, Mercy. I don’t think anything else has to happen tonight.” His voice comes out thick with Celt.

She barely hears the last words he adds more to himself, “No matter what the wolf might think.”


End file.
